Sep 27, 2008

Feeling Like a Tulle.

Since Matthew and I have been engaged for a whole week now, I decided that today would be a good day to start trying to figure out what to wear to our big party.

We've already chosen a location for the reception (Earnestine & Hazel's, a former brothel that's Memphis' oldest bar) and the ceremony (the cute empty lot next to said bar) and figured out a democratic way to decide what music gets played. It seems a little crazy - we have six months to get this thing nailed down - but I want to get the planning done so that I can kick back and enjoy being engaged to the most awesome guy ever.

I had started looking at some dresses online, but I didn't really know what I was looking for, so I decided to start by trying a few on. Unfortunately, it's after labor day, and most normal stores don't have a lot of white dresses in stock. Plus, sometimes it's easier to make a decision once you know what you don't like.

With that in mind, I walked into the suburban David's Bridal this morning. That's not quite true. Apparently, you can't just casually stroll into a wedding dress store and poke around a little bit. I was intercepted at the door and offered a seat at the "welcome table". They got my name and asked what my new last name would be, and I realized for the first time that for the rest of my life, I'm going to have to explain how to spell both my first and my last name.

I told the assistant the date of the wedding (March 21), and said that I was just looking, because I had plenty of time. "No, no," she corrected me. "Six months is no time at all! It takes 3 months to get a dress fitted and altered! And you want to look perfect on your special day!"

Anyway, she had me flip through a catalog and pick a few dresses to try on. I picked two - one was a cute tea-length strapless dress, and the other was a big, poofy, trained monstrosity with a sash. Go big or go home, right?

I was passed to a second assistant who found one of the most substantial bras I've ever seen (but um, damn, I looked good) and sent me to a fitting room. It was a little weird - there were no mirrors in the fitting room. I think the theory is that you walk out of the room to your waiting mom and grandma and sisters and then you stand on a platform and everyone cries.

I walked out in the shorter dress, stood on the platform, looked in the mirror and realized that I look cute in tea-length dresses. No one was with me - I didn't realize you were supposed to bring people on the first round.

The second dress was a lot harder to get on. First, the thing was huge. I unhooked it from the hanger and it stood up on its own tulle. I had to climb into the thing clumsily, and then waddle out of the dressing room, trying not to shut the train the door.

I hopped up on the platform, and yet another assistant went and grabbed some tulle that had been glued to a comb (I think it was supposed to be a veil) and stuck it to the back of my head. I looked in the mirror, and I didn't feel any different. It was me, barefoot, in a ginormous white dress, thinking of all the things I could accidentally spill on said dress over the course of an evening.

I couldn't try on any more dresses. They wanted me to, and I made up an excuse, pulled my jeans back on and made for the exit, realizing that this whole idea of what a bride should be just doesn't work with who I am.